It was the ticking that I first noticed.

     Shaking off enough of my haze I was able to discern a very specific ticking. Although I couldn't trace the origins of the noise (for I couldn't see anything), I could make out it's dull knock; not a clock, more like...a metronome. Yes, there was a metronome ticking away time, but for what purpose?

     I used the senses available to me to try and get an idea of what was going on. Wherever I was, it was nowhere immediately familiar to me. I did not own, nor know anyone who would own a piece of musical equipment; my main interest being the acquisition of rare items to pass on to the greedy for exorbitant prices. It wasn't exactly 'morally honest', but I provide something someone wants and they keep me accustomed to the lifestyle I choose; everyone walks away happy. Not that my skills as a purveyor of the unique would do me much good in my current state.

     Sightless, due to something being tied around my head, I had no way of knowing where I was. My hands were bound in front of me, tied at my waist, each hand secured to its respective side of the body. My feet, too, were strapped, the bindings tight around the cuff of my black leather boots, a rather ostentatious purchase at a shop in Spain two years ago. I noted with more than a little irony that this was only the third time I had worn them since their purchase, the other times saw the boots becoming so soiled that I needed to have them professionally cleaned; alcohol and cavorting incidents I could only blame myself for.

     Discomfort was beginning to set in as I slowly regained my faculties. I was laying on a flat surface, cold like a stone, but smooth. I could feel that much with a fingertip extended from my waist, so tightly were my arms bound to my body. I was not an athletic man, excess of celebration saw to that, nor was I slovenly, but I was no more intimidating to a man than a fly to me; the bonds were extraordinarily tight.

     I have never been prone to panic and was able to keep myself at a steady pace, realizing that in no way would panic aide in my current state. Yes, I knew I HAD to keep my wits about me, it is a fool's errand the man who lets his emotions deal with the rational. That was until I felt the tickle.

     Until that time I had so focused my energies on the external that I had yet to take stock of my condition. Other than discomfort from being bound, I felt relatively well. A headache in my eyes was nothing to speak of; a common occurrence in my life of opulence and degradations. But now I noticed the tickle. At the back of the throat where as a child you would tease, testing the limits of your gag reflex; laughing with your friends in childish terror and revulsion, as spittle dripped from your fingers and tears from your eyes.

     There was no such childhood fancy to be found here. I allowed my mind to trace the outline of my face, a face I had gotten to know so well in my own bathroom mirror, late-night pleadings with myself to 'sleep it off and send this one home'. Everything was in order except my lips. What was wrong with my lips?

     Concentrating, I sent my senses to my bottom lip, protruding awkwardly from it's usual resting place, forced to jut out by some sort of fluid like cloth. My upper lip, as well, was resting swollen above it's perch, a goo running over both with a disgusting slow examination. I could feel it like small fingers exploring the broken parts of my lips, where so many liquids had passed in the past few days that the salt and alcohol were taking their toll on my battle with hydration. The exam left stinging trails of slime where they rubbed, slowly seeping into my bloodstream.

     But worse, far worse, came the liquid forcing it's way into my open mouth. I couldn't scream due to the speed with which it proceeded! It pulsed and throbbed over my gums and teeth, the same sting attacking my cheeks. And at the back, where childhood friends had once found laughter, I now felt two jutting antennae, slowly scraping their way further into my esophagus, tickling here, choking there. The fluid moved slowly, like a giant snail making it's way into my maw.

     I coughed up vomit, feeling it pile against the mass, halting it for a moment before it re-steadied for it's descent. The bile itself, finding it dammed to exit, reversed its flow and I was forced to swallow what was must have been a late night snack; caviar.

     “Enough.”

     The voice came from behind me, that I could tell, despite my increasing delirium. The sticky ooze was now dangerously close to pushing past my epiglottis, and I began to feverishly shake and kick my feet to try and dislodge the abhorrent thing from my mouth; every kick encouraging it to hang tighter to tongue. But as soon as the lump registered its command, I could feel it begin to retreat.

     “This will likely come as relief to you, but I have called my pet back. If you so much as move in a way that disquiets him, he will return and I will not stop him.” Cooly uttered, deeply toned.

     The voice was lyrical, masculine, but danced around my ears. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard before, as if it could conjure multiple chords of tone, in different layers, through its voice-box. I was lulled instantly, a slight stupor coming over me. I welcomed my languid state, if only to spare me any further disturbance from the “pets” forceful examinations.

     “You are The Fischer?”

     I could only nod my head due to the slime still exiting my jaws. It slithered over the open chest of my shirt, leaving another stinging trail behind it. I felt a scar cross my body, the slime slowly seeping into my pores, mixing with my blood.

     “You are Argo, of the line Fischer, descended from Augustus?”

     How the fuck did it know that? My mind quickly recalled my lineage, quite easily done. As a youth I had poured over family tomes, revelling in the pictures and stories heritage. There were tales handed down from generation to generation, some of them becoming so fantastical that they were reserved for special nights, when extended family gathered around a roaring fire in dense night to scare one another with tales of our family’s long dark past.

     “Unhf dunh...” I struggled to speak through the slime worming past my lips.

     “Hoon, you're done!” The tone was harsh and blasted in my ear.

     The creature instantly vacated any remaining area of my mouth and fell with a sickening “plop” to the floor on my right side. I heard it make its way into a corner, a wet suction sound filling the air as it moved. It sounded bigger than I first imagined.

     “I know the name asshole. Kinda sounds like MINE doesn't it?” I spat on the floor after I spoke, my anger and revulsion sharing a common enemy at the moment.

     “Ah Fischer, yes, it is you. Only a Fischer would be so defiant in front of it's maker.”

     “Look motherfucker,” reason losing its battle to anger, “I don't know what the fuck it is you think you're doing, but you are fucked for a LOT of reasons!” I almost laughed as I spoke.

     “Be quiet BOY!” the last word boomed.

    My ears were attacked, trumpets and bass boomed in my head. Orchestras crashed as the last syllable was made real through instrument. The notes were such that they exploded in my mind, causing me to see fireworks behind eyes that had yet to find purchase.

     “I give you the permissions to speak, when I choose. Remain still, you have no reason other than your talent in acquisition to be spared, and there are others. I will make of you like you never existed.”

     I knew this to be true. His words, for no reason I could imagine, rang truer in my heart than any I had heard in my life. I knew that for whatever reason, be it past dealings or dances with devils, I belonged in whole to this being. It owned the contents of my soul and mind. It knew what was inside me. And I could feel...yes, I could feel its influence, in my mind, somewhere deep inside my mind. A humming...a slow chorus humming in my minds eye. And as quickly as I heard it and began searching for its origins, it disappeared.

     “Yessssss, remember now. Let it flow back to you. Let millennia of pain flow through your memory. Witness the worlds destroyed, delivered by you and your kind. Fall and bow to the lords of your realm, past and forever.”

     And I saw.

     I saw entire worlds brought to an end in a flash. But that wasn't the end I was to experience, I was meant to feel. I felt entire species fall from existence. I heard their cries as if they were my own, I felt every torture visited upon every body that had been obliterated. It coursed through my brain like fire, consuming every memory I had ever had, twisting it with some devastated piece of history; now wiped from mankind’s memory. And all the time, I knew...I knew these worlds were brought to this thing, and others like it, as sacrifice. They were a sacrifice to keep our world safe from the same destruction; my forebears were the gatekeepers of annihilation.

     I had no time to continue to dwell in this misery, for in as much time as I had been allowed to feel the pending collapse of my world, I was instantly drawn back into it.

     “Now you know the depths of your soul. And you see your place in all things. Do you accept these as truths?”

     I nodded. Against everything that I was, dear God, I nodded. I may have lived an imperfect life, and I may have done the 'less than honourable' on more than a fair share of occasions, but I was no harbinger of death. Horror swept over my body as my soul began to relish in the task that I had been appointed before birth. I fought against a newfound instinct to crush out those weaker than myself, to wipe clean the worlds of those who attained a fraction of what human-kind had mastered.

     This was not ME, I was quick to plead in my own head, I am NOT what my heart is saying.

     My captors voice grew insistent as it slowly moved closer to my area of sense. My ears noted a shift in the space around me. It was closer, no steps echoed, but the air changed as it approached where I remained tethered.

     “Don't fight your instincts boy, you were bred for this. Your existence is messenger. Deliverer of inevitability. And well-bred you were, you can't count the worlds you've aided in destroying.”

     I knew it. I knew every word to be true. I saw now, in every shadowed dealing I'd made, every back alley transaction...I had agreed to genocide.

     I was known as the man who could get the most rare treasures, and the fee made me look the other way of legitimacy. Many times I was approached by those that made my blood run cold, or benefactors for clients so steeped in mystery that research was rendered impossible, these were people who did not want to be found. But they paid well for their secrecy, and who was I to complain of the vices of wealth? Booze, women, parties and drugs; everything I could have wanted.

     But I have morals of course! I'd never hurt anyone knowingly...I had never wished ill on even those I have the deepest distaste for. I was, for all intents and purposes, a good man.

     “Good?” The voice was now in my ear, sour cold breath following. “You think you're a good man? What do you know of good? You've dealt in shadows, you knowingly participate in dark deeds, you treat your temple with disease and look the other way as your fellow man suffers. No, there is no good in you. Apathy has a special place in our realm.”

     “Who are you?” I whispered out into the darkness surrounding me.

     “I am absolution. I am the end of all, and beginning. That which you seek, in your dreams, and nightmares. I am your maker, and yours is mine to command. I am Insomere.”

     I felt something touch my cheek. Cold and sterile, there was no compassion in the touch, nothing that put me at ease. No, it was quite the opposite in fact. I felt dread. This was something that demanded respect through fear and I had plenty of that in me right now.

     “And I have need of your service. I need to send a message.”

     “To who?”

     “Your kind.” Whispered in my ear.

     My blood ran cold and any struggle I may have had left quickly evacuated.

     “What...what message?”

     I felt the figure move away from my head. Then movement at my feet, a slight squeezing, the binding on my feet was being removed.

     “Your avarice has come to an end. The greed of your kind has become legend in my realm, and the era of laughing at your antics is done. It is time you learn humility once again. While we conquer worlds and reap upon them their own repulsions, your world continues to turn upon itself. Your own hatred now matches that of gods, and for that you must be punished. You will again return to the mud from which you were shat, to become a people no more.”

     As the speech continued, further releases of my bonds took place. Until, at the end of the missive, I was left with nothing holding me captive, save whatever blocked my sight.

     “Therefore, Fischer, you are to be tasked with helping us achieve our goal. And I am to be your...handler.”

     “We?” I took the time to separately rub each wrist, bringing feeling back into the skin where the rope had begun to dig.

     “Ot'Wor, 'Other Worlders', your crude designation for us. We prefer to think of ourselves as your masters. In the end it makes no difference, titles bring little when worlds are at stake.

     While your kind toiled in obscurity, we built ourselves on the backs of lesser beings. Absorbing energies and ideas, taking in all histories and achievements, then deleting them from the Universe. We are histories scholars and jurors. No stone unturned, no path unnoticed. We see all at once, and individual.”

     I struggled to sit up as Insomere spoke, determined to find some sort of sure ground. I wouldn't go out on my back.

     “We have seen your progressive rise through your realms history, you have been careless. Knowledge like yours does not come without a price. And that price IS humility!”

     There was a massive CRASH as he spoke 'humility', a snap in the room and I was pushed violently, pinned on my back by some unseen force. Bitter wind whipped at my body, lashing it several times with icy fingers from within the turbulence. Blood oozed out of the wounds as it tore at my flesh, agony shooting searing messages across the gashes; but as soon as the flesh tore, it began to reform itself with the aid of a sickly substance mixing with the blood oozing out of the holes.

     I felt my skin restoring itself with no shortage of pain! It felt as if every slash was being ripped open again, down to the bone. I felt tissue and sinew regenerate with lightning speed, and although I had never felt the sting of acid, the searing from within my body must have been as close as an imagination could conjure.

     I screamed out in spite of my determination to give this demon no such satisfaction; how couldn't I? The skin of my body was re-knitting itself in several places; no matter how many times the icy wraith slashed at me, my body would always respond with regeneration. My mind was beginning to fragment, shock and pain becoming too much for the synapses to handle. I felt the world swim out of focus, my body shifting as I became lifeless. 'This is what swimming into the abyss of death is like', I thought to myself, as I surrendered my mind to its darkness.

     “And now, as you understand what powers we wield, you will you learn your place.”

     Instantly I was released from the whipping force of the wind. I buckled down upon the frigid slab, trembling from head to toe. The blood in my veins ran cold, and was in no hurry to warm. The areas of skin, now repaired, were crawling, as if hundreds of miniscule insects were working just beneath it's surface. My eyes, even had they not been covered, ached and burned. This was my hell...this was punishment for my dirtiest of deeds. If there was a God, I was feeling his retributions.

     Insomere laughed; a low snort, like a cough.

     “God? Oh child, the one you knew as God was destroyed centuries before your species took it's first step. For the Creator, he was so easily undone.”

     Again movement at my feet, grabbing me at the ankles. I kicked as much as I could, but the grasp was firm...and tightening as I shook. I immediately ceased and lay still.

     “You, Fischer, are to be our messenger. You are to be spared the fate of your species, if you do your duties to our satisfaction.”

     “What duties?” I only asked to take my mind off the pressure that continued to grow at my ankles.

     “You are to find the items we seek upon this Earth. You are to bring these items to us. Some, you will trigger. Others, we will destroy. The contents are yours. Our gift.” Insomere made a clacking noise, like teeth snapping as the tongue rose and fell in the back of the throat.

     CRACK! A scream! My scream! I was crying out in pain as the ankle of my left foot was suddenly shattered by the strength of the unknown grip. In one second the bone was split as my ankle was forced inward upon itself. My throat strained as I unleashed a guttural howl. I felt bone splinter off and push through my skin, jutting out at a sickly forty five degree angle, skin torn and dangling. My mind again sent me swaying into darkness as I felt the skin begin to heal around the fracture.

     But the bone, the bone did not mend back to it's original form. No, as my skin reformed around the broken ankle, the hard calcium continued to move outside the skin, reaching for some kind of stable platform. Upon feeling the slab I rested upon, it immediately rooted there, and on its end a rough knuckle began to form. It solidified further, pressure being forced up into my leg, and continued to grow, hardening upon itself in layers.

     Out of instinct I kicked my legs, the left hardest. It flew outwards momentarily, striking something with force. There was a deep thud as whatever I hit stumbled back, my senses registering some kind of leather cloth, toughened, worn by my torturer. As the leg recoiled, it found the stone again, and along with the plop of a foot still reforming, there came the hard crack of bone colliding.

     “It is useless to fight Fischer. We are many to your one. I can call on anything I wish to aid in your surrender, please don't make me. It's easier for everyone.”

     My eyes came into focus as the blindfold was removed from my head, a blur of bright light attacking my retinas. I winced against its harshness and tried to adjust to the room through small slits.

     It was confirmed that I was in an unknown area, a wooden staircase running up the left hand side of the room. My focus slowly worked to my favour and began to clear. I tried to see down to my feet, but an unusual amount of darkness purged sight from halfway down my thighs. Turning my head to the right, where moments ago Insomere had been whispering, afforded me the view of a laundry area, with washer and dryer and folded pile sitting on top.

     “Where the fuck am I ?” I whispered out loud trying to find something I recognized.

     “You don't remember?” Insomere quizzed. “How easily wiped your kind is of a simple nights pleasures. Allow me to inform you.”

     For an instant I saw a pale grey stump move to my eyes before they were covered. Scenes raced into view, glimpses from the evening prior. A penthouse, a party, that rich kid snob host. He pulled me aside, wanted me to appraise something for him. Champagne. A toast. Then voices, muffled, far away. I was on the floor, I felt like I'd been drugged. I heard voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying, only the odd word clear; Insomere, sacrifice, paid. Whomever it was knew more than I did. I'm not shown how I got here, but I know that most of who brought me here had quickly vacated before Insomere appeared. Fear was rampant.

     Whatever had happened, I was no longer in that penthouse, that was obvious. I needed answers quick. The pain in my body had subsided into a steady thrum of nerves and blood pounding through veins. I could hear bone grinding on bone as my ankle continued to grow it's horrible second appendage. I shook my head violently to uncover my eyes.

     “Now you see, but not all. You have forgotten why you were summoned.” Insomere cooed as again sight adjusted.

     I stole the moment to move my gaze up, trying to catch a glimpse of Insomere. I saw the figure turning, moving away, swathed from top to bottom in black, clinging to a lumpy frame. The entire head bald, skin greying and drooping slightly from the skull, with something at the base...what was that? The hands were also the same colour, grey, like the dead flesh of a fish, discarded instead of being tossed back to its home. The garments were that of a peasant, assorted cloths, hastily stitched together to form a type of cowl covering the body; it smelled of decay.

     As I studied the back of the figure I heard it tinkering with something behind me. There was a metallic scrape, as if something was being dragged across a table. Insomere turned into view and walked around my left side. I now saw the figure fully; had I the ability to turn my gaze, I would.

     The face of the thing was as grey as the rest. The skin hanging from bone as if there were no muscle underneath to give it form. It hung off the skull as if slowly melting, like candle wax. There were no eyes in its sockets, just two gaping holes, hanging skin where nose would sit, a slight drool forming between the folds where nostrils may once have been found.

     Just as horrifying was the mouth. The lips had been drawn tight, over teeth and gums, to reveal its decayed mouth. A handful of flesh had been gathered at the back of the head, tightly bound at the base of the skull by what looked like fishing line. It cut into the skin and dug deeply, little insects swarming over the wound.

     I couldn’t pull my eyes from the sight, even as I felt the pressure on my chest. His head turned to mine, skin loosely dangling, hanging in little rivulets from the frame. I thought I would lose my mind if it were to drag across my own, a tiny tentacle close to doing just so on my cheek.

     “This, this is another gift for you. To help you on your journeys.”

     His stump hand fell on the top of the box. I turned to the sound, muted, as flesh formed in a pool before it fully rested on the lid.

     I looked now at the box. All metal, detailing etched into the sides. Ornate little lines and circles. A whole world scratched into its side. I could almost see it moving, twisting upon itself, puzzling...exploring.

     I would have gazed longer if the sound from within hadn't diverted my attention. A small scraping had begun to build. Followed by another...then another. The scratching rose in pitch, the box trembling slightly. The sound continued to grow, as if dozens of tiny metal prongs were being dragged down the insides of the cube. It jumped violently once, inches in the air, and landed back on my chest; slightly taking the wind from my lungs. My nerves began to unravel as the sound became louder. It began to rise like a swarm, a swarm of metal insects, fighting and clawing to get out of the metal cage; now mere inches from my face.

     My fear was made whole as Insomere leaned in towards my ear, the sickly skin drooping onto my chin and cheek; pooling in a cold dead mass, nearly dripping off me.

     “Now, Fischer, you will take your place as messenger to the Ot'Wor. You will deliver our message to your people. You will take from them their hope, and ultimately, their existence. You are now commanded so.”

     I feebly kicked my legs, but the figure I had struck before was back at my feet. Although the form was obscured by darkness, there was no denying it's size; formidable. It pinned my legs to the table, harshly squeezing the bone-claw that had formed above my left ankle.

     I pulled my head to the right, feeling Insomeres skin slide off of mine. My eyes remained on the box, the scratching now a steady thump. The box shook violently and the lid burst open!

     As I opened my mouth to scream I saw the entire contents swarm from inside, the light hitting them, causing an explosion of reflected fireworks in my eyes. I felt the first cut as the swarm violently punched into my mouth.

     And my screams were silenced.